


i'll keep you safe, you keep me strong

by Growlithe



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Getting Together, Post-Canon, Seattle, excessive use of the word 'fuck'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Growlithe/pseuds/Growlithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max‘s voice is soft and perfect at 2am and that’s how she gets to people. That’s how Chloe finds herself staring the ground the next morning to check her ass hasn’t literally frozen off, because it’s December and she’s at the beach of all places – not tucked up under the covers getting high, but at the <i>beach.</i> It’s Saturday and it’s not even noon and she’s going to spend days pouring sand out of her best boots, all because Max fucking Caulfield just had to take pictures of crabs or some shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll keep you safe, you keep me strong

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting almost finished on my computer for so long. I just wanted to try Chloe POV and write a bunch of little scenes featuring two nerds hanging out I really don't know.....how we ended up here.....
> 
> (title from 'bros' by wolf alice)

 The world almost ends before Chloe works it out. Realistically, she’s always known, in the same way that she knows that blue is her colour, and she’s fiercely attracted to bad ass action women. She’s just a little slow at putting all the pieces together.

But getting in touch with her true feelings has never been Chloe’s strong point.

People have tried to fix her, as though giving her a band aid and a few chapters of Anger Management for Dummies would magically glue all the broken fragments of her life back together. Chloe’s heard it all from shitty therapists – everything will be fine if she just finds her inner self and _communicate_ s – sure, thanks, like _that’ll_ bring her dad back. Step-swine is even worse, all up in her face hissing, ‘ _fix your attitude, fix your hair, think think think about someone besides yourself’_. It makes her want to scream, and sometimes she does, but that’s not the point. The point is, they can preach all that crap about _healing_ and _letting go_ , but Chloe doesn’t know how. She only knows how to live with her pain coiled tight and suffocating against her chest, so she’ll never forget how much the world has fucked her over.

So, sure, Max probably works it out first. But that’s just who they are.

Chloe’s just not about details. She prefers to charge ahead, and let Max stop to smell (or, okay, photograph) the flowers. Chloe would kill to see things like Max does, to gaze around with curious artsy eyes and find beautiful moments worth freezing in time on polaroid paper, but she can’t. All Chloe sees is darkness and resentment and, if she’s lucky, fragments of memories and colours, blurring as she drinks until she passes out fully-clothed again because some days it’s the closest she can get to sleep.

So it takes her a while. But she gets there eventually.

Of course it had all started years ago, with stupid little things, like when Chloe had grabbed Max’s hand for the millionth time and found for the first time that her heart had fluttered. But she doesn’t even start to comprehend what it all means until it’s too late, until her chest is tight and her eyes are red and she’s so livid she can barely breathe, because there’s a big empty space where Max should be, and she just fucking _left,_ just like her dad.

She tries to get her shit together, because it’s the least her dad would want, a daughter who can function. She tries and she fails and fails and fails until it doesn’t feel worth it – until it feels like she’s just painting over the chips of her nail polish again and again, and it never looks right, it’s bumpy and messy, still cracked and damaged underneath.

She learns to cope in her own way. She gets angry. She gets high. She scrawls her rage in messy words across any flat surface she can find. She wastes time with boys who mean nothing and girls who disappear. Things start to feel better when Rachel’s around. Her smile is nicer than anything in the world and Chloe’s sure she’s sent from heaven. She starts to think that maybe the universe doesn’t hate her after all. And then she’s gone and it’s 4am and Chloe wakes up, gasping and reaching out to grab the back of her dad’s flannel shirt before it’s too late and there’s no one there to stroke her hair and tell her it’s okay. And then it’s way past noon and she wakes up, groggy and devastated, because she’s forgotten what Rachel’s shampoo smells like.

She does the only thing she can. She lies back and lights up, picks fights and blasts her music so loud that she can barely breathe. She’s numb and dead inside, so broken down that step-shit could blast through her door with a chainsaw and she wouldn’t even notice, wouldn’t even glance up and acknowledge his revolting presence.  

Then Max comes back.

Chloe’s still angry, but she gets caught up in the adventure. She’s spent five years, jaded and insistent that she’ll never forgive Max Caulfield for leaving, but she’d forgotten how nice it feels, just to touch someone who actually gives a shit. She’d forgotten how cute Max is, with her dorky jokes and her billions of freckles. Also babes with superpowers have always been her jam so, honestly, she’s kind of helpless.

Weird shit always happens when Max is around, and not just because of her freaky, awesome, totally unfair time-twisting advantages. Like, when Chloe finds herself strolling through Blackwell on a warm evening, and there’s some douche under a tree strumming “Here Comes The Sun” on his badly tuned acoustic, trying to impress some wavy-haired blonde in cowboy boots, and it’s all real vomit-inducing, only Chloe doesn’t even roll her eyes, _doesn’t even shudder_. She’s distracted by Max, hair whipped wild by the wind, looking all dreamy as she zones her camera vision in on the sunset, and Chloe feels the warmth, feels sunshine seeping into her cold dead heart, and _then_ she shudders, but not because of the prick with the acoustic. She shudders because she’s so overwhelmed with the feeling that Max is really something fucking else and yeah, okay, when she smiles like that, she’s kind of insanely pretty.

Hours later when Chloe’s back in her own room – long after walking Max back to her dorm and listening to her insist she has homework, then spending over an hour lying on her bed anyway, having the chilliest fucking time – she finds herself humming that bastard song. She hums all of four notes before she stops dead still. She hums them again, slowly, to confirm. The third time, she hisses out a string of curses and her heart is pounding and she has to steady herself, hand against the wall, as it hits her rough, like a punch in the teeth, that maybe Max _is_ the sun. Maybe she always has been.

Chloe thinks life was probably easier when she felt nothing.

**

 

The world doesn’t end. Max makes sure of it. Chloe grieves for Rachel – cries and cries until she’s completely numb. Max is fragile and fragmented and going through her own shit. But she’s still there. On the days when Chloe’s vile and irate and on the days when she wakes up with the weight of the world crushing down on her lungs. She’s still there.

They start sleeping in the same room, when everything’s over. It’s easier to have someone around when the nightmares hit. Max has always been a restless sleeper, but suddenly she's a thousand times worse. Still, they spend most nights in Chloe’s room, curled up under the covers like they’re kids. Blackwell’s gone to shit anyway. All the investigations and the whispers and the memorial for Rachel make her feel like throwing up.

Chloe always leaves the light on. She knows how Max feels about the dark.

Max‘s voice is soft and perfect at 2am and _that’s_ how she gets to people. That’s how Chloe finds herself staring the ground the next morning to check her ass hasn’t literally frozen off, because it’s December and she’s at the beach of all places – not tucked up under the covers getting high, but at the _beach_. It’s Saturday and it’s not even noon and she’s going to spend days pouring sand out of her best boots, all because Max fucking Caulfield just had to take pictures of crabs or some shit.

The worst part – the part that _really_ gets Chloe – is that Max has the nerve to look adorable, clinging to her camera with her plaid hipster scarf tucked right up to her red nose. It’s maybe the cutest thing Chloe has seen. It just makes her _more_ pissed off.

She’d stumbled towards her truck half asleep when she’d woke up, convinced that some useless fingerless gloves and a hardcore punk attitude would be enough to keep her warm. Now she’s fully awake, she kind of regrets rolling her eyes and sighing “god mom” when they’d strolled into the diner for a free caffeine kick and Joyce had preached her a sermon on the glory of wrapping up warm.

It’s a relief, just to see Max with her camera again. She’d stopped for a while, after that crazy week from hell, let almost a month pass without taking a single selfie. If there’s one thing Chloe hates more than that disgusting sick prick Jefferson, it’s when Max doubts herself. She hates to see her crumble, wants to shake her shoulders and yell, “tough it out, you’re only the most capable person I’ve _ever_ met.” There’s this fierceness to Max that she likes to keep hidden, and Chloe loves to force it out of her, because confidence suits her, she deserves it, she’s a freaking _superhero_. Also, it’s kind of crazy hot.

Max starts exploring as soon as they step on the beach, taking in everything with curious eyes, the way she always used to before she stopped the storm. The sand is smooth – lacking evidence that the world almost ended. Lacking evidence that they only just survived.

Chloe kicks at a shell. She hates this beach. Rachel had always dragged her here – she’d loved getting wasted with her painted toes dipped in the ocean, sandy hair spread around her like some mythical mermaid. Chloe inhales as the memories hit her right in the chest, sharp as glass –

Max curls her fingers around Chloe’s.

“Let’s go this way,” she says.

Chloe follows. Some days she thinks she’d let Max lead her anywhere.

**

They find a crusty old fishing boat washed up on the shore. It’s rotting and dirty and Chloe waits about three seconds before hoisting her leg up to climb aboard. Max stands and gawks, a cautious observer.

“Hop on up here,” Chloe says, reaching out her hand. “It’s time to set sail, Captain.”

“Um, Chloe,” Max says, with a sensible little shrug, “I don’t think this boat’s going anywhere.”

“Max, you chicken fried fuck. Come _on_. We would’ve killed for a sick ride like this when we were tiny baby pirates. It’s time to make dreams come true!”

“Just to be clear,” Max says, hovering cautiously, “You’re not actually going to try and sail it, right?”

“You’re a terrible captain,” Chloe says, sinking glumly down onto a dirty looking seat. “Prepare for mutiny.”

“Never,” Max hisses, eyes narrowed fiercely.

She attempts to scramble clumsily aboard. She fails three times. Turns out Max can save lives and towns and maybe even the world, but she’s too small to climb aboard a simple fishing boat. Chloe snorts when she resorts to taking a running jump.

“You’ll never overthrow me,” Max says, finally present and all out of breath.

“Sure I will, Mini-Max. You’re _tiny.”_

“I’m average height,” Max says, arms folded defensively.

Chloe snorts. Max tentatively takes a seat.

“If I get a splinter in my ass…”

“Then you can rewind and sit somewhere else. Simple,” Chloe says with a winning smile.

“It is kind of cool,” Max says. "To have a boat of our own."

 Chloe offers out her hand for a well-earned fist bump.

“After all this time we’re still pirates,” Max grins.

“You bet we are,” Chloe grins, “Now, if you will, a drumroll please.”

Max complies self-consciously.

“Ta da! How much do you love me?”

Chloe presents a picnic of whatever she could swipe from the Two Whale’s kitchen while her mom had gazed in sparkly-eyed awe at Max such-a-good-girl Caulfield. Chloe thinks that her mom’s unchangeably high opinion of Max might falter if she knew all the treacherous acts of betrayal she’d committed, like snooping through her demonic husband’s shit and sword fighting with Joyce’s very own breadsticks, but Chloe doesn’t want to crush her mom’s dreams any more than she already does by existing. Also, Max is still a starving student who spends all her money on instant camera film and she could really use an ally to clog her arteries with diner chow every now and then.

The sword fighting is a total success. Chloe is a boss with a breadstick. She’s totally thrashing Max and her tiny hands, right up until the one devastating moment where she loses eighty per cent of her sword in one cruel swipe.

Max laughs victoriously, so smug it’s irritating. Chloe looks sadly at the stubby remains of her breadstick. She drops it down the front of Max’s shirt as payback.

“You suck,” Max pouts, fishing it out. “I’m going to be picking crumbs from my bra for _days._ ”

“I could help you clean up,” Chloe teases. “I mean, as your best friend I’d be happy make that sacrifice.”

She waggles her eyebrows, just obvious and douchey enough to make Max blush. And her cheeks do turn bright red, right before she hits Chloe over the head with an empty donut box.

Their laughter fizzles out to a comfortable silence. Max shuffles close enough to make Chloe’s breath hitch, nimble fingers resting gently on Chloe’s leg.

“Chloe,” Max says, suddenly serious. “I can’t stay here.”

“We can go back,” says Chloe, shrugging. “My ass is getting numb anyway.”

“No,” Max says, looking at her feet, “No, I’m – I have to go back to Seattle soon.”

Chloe swears her heart stops. She gasps as betrayal twists sharp in her stomach.

“What,” she spits out, feeling fire sear beneath her skin, “The fuck.”

“Not forever!” Max insists. “For a while – for the holidays, maybe? – Just until I work stuff out –“

Max rambles off excuses but Chloe can’t focus when every word she says stings like a stab in the chest. She digs her nails into her shaking palms.

Another shitty family holiday where it takes all her self-control not to stab David to death with a fork. Her hopes of sneaking out with Rachel gone, buried and rotting underground. And Max gone. For weeks. Maybe years. Probably forever. Chloe feels acid burn in the back of her throat and it’s all she can do not to scream.

She’s always known in the back of her mind, that Max can go anywhere she wants – whether it’s Seattle or some fancy artsy college or travelling through time – hey, no big deal. Max has multiple free passes out of this shithole.

 She always knew she’d leave eventually. They all do.

“I mean, my parents would love to see you and I’d _love_ to see them react to your blue hair, so –“

“What?” Chloe whispers, steadying a shaking hand on Max’s arm.

“You don’t have to look so horrified,” Max says, laughing nervously. “I just thought – you don’t _have_ to – but I just thought maybe it’d be fun if you… came too? Just for a few weeks, maybe, I haven’t actually worked out any details yet but we need to get out of this place, Chloe, so much has happened and...“

“You’re serious?” Chloe says, voice shaking.

“One hundred per cent cereal,” Max nods.

“You’re so lame,” Chloe laughs, reaching for Max’s hand. “Oh my god. Super Max. I can’t believe you’re setting me free from Arcadia Bay.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a hella yes!” Chloe clears her throat and finds some chill, “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get too lonely –”

Max laughs and tugs her forward into a hug and Chloe clings on tighter than she ever has. It takes every bit of self-control she possesses not to cry like a pathetic little baby.

“Jesus fuck, Maxidoodle, I was so worried,” Chloe says into Max’s shoulder. “I thought you were leaving without me.”

Max leans back, eyes all blue and serious.

“I’ve seen what the world’s like without you, Chloe,” she says. “And I am never going to re-live that.”

Chloe sucks in a shaky breath. She tries to think of a significant reply, tries to sum up her feelings like an actual grown-up. As always, she lacks eloquence.

“I can’t believe we’re going to party in Seattle,” she says weakly. Like a fucking moron.

“I was thinking less parties and more sitting around in our pajamas watching crap on youtube.”

“But you’re going to let me have some fun, right?”

“I could take you to the library,” Max says, and her eyes are practically sparkling with excitement.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Watch out world. Mad Max is coming.”  

“Hey, we’ll have fun! As long as you’re good.”

“I’m always good,” Chloe grins.

Max shoots her a look that suggests she thinks differently.

“What, you think I’m going to stroll into your parents’ house all, ‘yo, is it chill if light up in the backyard?’ Relax Max. I’ll behave. Oh, but you do know a decent dealer you can hook me up with, right?”

“ _Chloe!”_

“Kidding!” Chloe says. “But seriously, maybe just a pal who smokes a lot of weed or –“

“No,” Max says. “No way.”

“You’re worse than Joyce,” Chloe whines.

“Do you think she’ll hate me?” Max asks, looking worried. “For stealing you away.”

“Please,” snorts Chloe. “She’ll be thrilled I’m not around to ruin the mood.”

“She’ll miss you,” Max says.

“She’ll get used to it,” Chloe shrugs. “It’ll be good practice for her,” she adds, a little nervously. “You know, for when we finally drive off into the sunset together for good.”

“Oh?” Max smiles, leaning closer. “Where are we going?”

Chloe’s heart flutters. She tries not to dream about it – the two of them escaping this hellhole together – not while she’s still crushed about what happened to Rachel. She’s scared to talk about it, scared to make it real because then the universe will find a way to destroy it. Like everything else she’s ever loved.

And yet she still wants it more than anything. So bad it burns in her gut.

“To some gorgeous tourist trap by the ocean,” Chloe grins. “A big city. No more creepy small town shit. And we can live in a big fancy house with a swimming pool and get high and go skinny dipping literally all the time. Of course, we’ll be loaded thanks to the stage show. People will drop hella cash to see Max the Magnificent perform with her stunning punk rock assistant.”

“I’ve told you before,” Max says, “No abusing my power for money.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Chloe whines. “Literally one bank and we’re out of here forever. I’m too pretty to actually _work_ for money.”

Max laughs and _she’s_ the one who’s pretty, hair mussed by the breeze from the ocean. Chloe has always taken terrible pictures, but she pulls her shitty camera phone out anyway. She takes three pictures of Max. She frowns at the screen. They don’t look right. Don’t quite capture the moment.

“Are you trying to steal my job?” Max asks.

With a lightening quick whip of her camera she’s caught Chloe looking mildly gormless. Another flash and they’re close together, soft and content on their pirate ship on the shore.

“You’re gonna waste all your pretentious film on me,” Chloe warns.

Max tucks the photos neatly into her bag.

“You’re worth it,” she says softly.

**

By the time Chloe drops Max back outside Blackwell, it’s pouring with rain. The world is grey and depressing, but Chloe doesn’t care. For once it feels like sunshine.

 Max stares out of the window, fingers toying with the wool of her scarf.

“Ugh,” she groans, “Guess I’ll have to run back to my dorm.”

“Yep,” Chloe chirps. “Unless you want me to drive you across campus.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Who’s joking?” Chloe says. She flashes her best dare-me grin and turns her key, so her beat-up engine whirs.

“You actually would,” Max laughs.

Chloe reckons she could get her truck up the stairs, maybe knock over a couple of trash cans and a particularly pretentious student on the way. At this point –with Blackwell’s whole reputation trashed – she’d probably be doing them a favour.

“You’d have to ask nicely though,” Chloe teases, “Maybe bribe me with another one of your kisses.”

“You wish,” Max snorts.

“What, I’m not good enough for you?”

“I’m just not sure you could handle it,” Max says with a smug little grin.

“Um, excuse me,” says Chloe. “I can handle _anything._ ”

“And yet you _totally_ freaked last time.”

Chloe whacks her hand down on the steering wheel so hard she swears it almost breaks.

“That’s bullshit,” she says, “I did not freak. I was just – surprised, I mean, I didn’t think you’d have the balls to actually do it and then – it was fucking early, okay? Come on, Maximillian, you know I’m not a morning person –”

“Chloe,” Max says, patting her elbow gently. “It’s okay. Everyone gets nervous.”

“Nervous? Dude, are you fucking _serious?_  You wanna go again? I’ll go again, right now.”

Max raises her eyebrows in a cute little _prove it,_ and then Chloe’s hand is in Max’s hair and she’s right in the middle of a forceful lean in before she realises what she’s actually doing. She commits (she doesn’t really have a choice at this point) and their lips meet and it’s more of a bump than an actual kiss, but Max sucks in a little breath of surprise anyway, and Chloe’s insanely proud – take that Caulfield, payback’s a _bitch_.

Chloe leans back with a smug little who’s-chickenshit-now grin, and she’s planning on laughing off the hella uncool blush that’s crept across her cheeks, but she’s suddenly hyperaware of Max’s fingers, curling around her arm. Max tugs or maybe Chloe leans in, either way it takes one little trembling movement they’re closing in for an _actual_ kiss, just a few little soft presses and fuck, _fuck._

Chloe feels herself relax and shudder all at once because she’s _kissing her best friend_ , quivering like she’s fourteen and a half and it’s her first time all over again. Cars whoosh past outside and the rain pounds harsh against the window and everything that’s ever existed fades until Max Caulfield is the only thing left.

Max leans back first, breath heavy, eyes wide and unsure.

“Fuck,” Chloe says, shakily, “ _Look –“_

There’s a rap against the window. Chloe jumps so hard she practically smashes her head on the roof. Then she glares. Through the rain scattered across the window, she sees a face, looming like a creep of the night in some low-budget horror movie. Warren. Fucking _Warren._  

He knocks again.

“Ugh,” Chloe groans, “Are you fucking _kidding –_ “

Max stretches out her hand –

 

“You’d have to ask nicely though,” Chloe teases, “Maybe bribe me with another one of your kisses.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll just hide out in the library,” Max says. “I mean, it’s pretty close. Maybe I’ll actually learn something before we leave for Seattle.”

“Nerd,” Chloe sneers, feeling her heart sink. She should’ve know that she couldn’t goad her best friend into a casual makeout session, not after she was lame and freaked out last time. There goes her chance for payback, she thinks, chewing on her bottom lip, wondering why it’s tingling.

“Oh,” says Max, pointing out of the window. “I think we have company.”

Chloe glances over. _Warren._ As far as stalkers go, Max could probably do much worse but seriously, read the mood, dude. Chloe sighs. Max shoots her a helpless look and rolls her window down. The cold air bites like a bitch.

“Max!” Warren says, as if they’d just casually bumped into each other on the street, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Warren,” Max says, “Uh, hi…”

“And Chloe, right? Oh, am I… interrupting?”

“Yep,” Chloe mutters.

“Not at all,” says Max, politely.

 “I was just passing by and I saw you and I was like, oh, it’s Max, what a coincidence! So I thought I’d offer to walk you back. To your dorm. I have an umbrella.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, as Warren leans forward, shaking raindrops off his tiny umbrella carelessly into the truck. Fucking incredible. She knows for a fact that Max had text Warren, not twenty minutes ago, all, “Hi I’m Max Caulfield and I’ll be hipstering around campus soon (emoji emoji emoji).”

She wonders if she’d get away with stabbing him with her key. Just enough to deter him so she can finish her day out with Max on a gorgeous _private_ high. She’d keep the wound small and non-fatal. Probably.

“Warren,” Max says, “That’s really nice of you but –“

“But Max isn’t sure we’ll all fit under that umbrella,” Chloe says, stretching her arm around Max’s shoulder.

“Oh,” says Warren, eyes darting between the two of them. “You’re uh – you’re coming too?”

“I always go where Max goes,” Chloe says, flashing her teeth in her best impression of a predatory lion. “First rule of being partners.”

“Oh yeah – that’s – that’s cool,” says Warren, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

A thick silence looms. Max squirms. Chloe grins.

“Chloe,” Max says awkwardly. “Weren’t you going to help Joyce at the diner?”

“Oh shit!” Chloe gasps, glancing at the time. “I totally forgot.”

She’s started working shifts at the Two Whales, attempting to earn cash in a manner that’s actually legal. The customers are dicks and the pay sucks, but she’s getting better at being in the same room as Joyce without snapping. It’s actually kind of cool, they way her mom had convinced the owner to take a chance on her deadbeat daughter.

“Text me, okay?” Max says. Her fingers brush down Chloe’s arm. They’re gone too soon.

“Sure,” says Chloe. “Whatever. You better get going. Wouldn’t want you to miss any precious time at Crapwell Academy.”

“We’ll make plans later.” Max flashes her a soft smile as she climbs out of the car.

“Enjoy your fucking geek fest,” Chloe mutters. Max is already gone.

Chloe watches them leave, tucked up under the umbrella. She watches Warren’s hand close in on the small of Max’s back, guiding her, as though she can’t walk by herself. What a fucking hero.

Chloe kicks her foot against her truck. She’s wearing her toughest boots. It still stings like a motherfucker. Then she’s off on her way, whizzing through a stop light as her perfect morning bleeds into cold hard reality.

**

 

Chloe’s vision blurs when they leave the state. She actually has to blink back tears. She’s a mess of emotions, not quite sure how to feel. She could kiss Max for helping her break the chain the universe had looped around her neck, binding her to Arcadia Bay for all of eternity. She feels a sharp twist of guilt that Rachel’s not with her.

They make it to Seattle. Max’s parents are sweet, with just a sprinkle of reluctance. Chloe gets it. She’s not the type of girl parents want their kids to be friends with. She’s used to people looking at her like she’s the first stain on a brand new carpet. She tries to enthuse some delight into her voice as she answers endless questions about Joyce and Arcadia Bay. It’s easier than usual. She’s just so fucking glad to be out.

Max’s room looks nothing like the one she’d had when they were kids. It’s weird, because Chloe had always pictured Max in her old room when she’d imagined her in Seattle. Chloe takes in the life Max had without her – the photos with people she’s never seen, the little adolescent notes taped on the wall. She feels awkward as hell. She’s dying to just smoke and zone out, but she can't. She's not planning on getting kicked out of Max’s house the very first night they arrive.

Chloe watches Max as she shuffles around, unpacking some of the things she brought back with her. Chloe kicks off her boots.

“This is so weird.” Chloe says, nudging the air mattress with the floral covers with her foot. “It’s literally the exact same bed I slept on when we were kids.”

“Thank my mom,” Max smiles fondly. “She never changes.”

“Didn’t we share a bed anyway? Like, we stacked this mattress thing on top of your bed –“

“Like the Princess and the Pea! Oh my god, I remember that.”

“And then,” Chloe laughs, “Remember, we got in trouble because your mom found all that defrosted pea gunk in your bed?”

“We were testing a theory,” Max laughs, “It was your idea and you blamed me!”

“Back then, I was so cute people actually believed me,” Chloe sighs fondly.

“You're still cute!" Max insists.

“Yeah, but you’re cuter,” Chloe says, snooping around a bit. “Look at all this teenage hipster bullshit. It’s adorable. Wait a minute. What the fuck is this? You had a _burger phone_?”

Chloe pokes at the offensive piece of plastic. It’s the most hideous thing she’s even seen.

“It was a gift,” Max says helplessly.

“You had your own phone,” Chloe says flatly. “Right here in your room. For five years.”

“Chloe,” Max says weakly.

“No,” Chloe huffs out a deep breath and forces herself to stay calm. “Whatever. It’s fine”

“Look, I’m – I’m sorry–“

“Max, just… chill, okay?. It was a long time ago. And I’ve… fucked up too. Let’s just leave it at that. I’m over it.”

Max eyes her up suspiciously, like it’s a trick.

“Seriously,” she says. “I’ve got to stop hanging on to all this bullshit or it’s going to destroy me. You… you taught me that.”

Her words tumble out shakily, and then she feels embarrassed. Chloe doesn’t _do_ embarrassment, so she flops down onto the air mattress as a decoy.

“ _Wowser_ ,” she says, in her best Max voice. “So not comfy”

“Share my bed,” Max says, forthright and bold. It’s not a question.

It’s a terrible idea. The two of them crushed up in a single bed, all tangled limbs and shared body heat. Chloe feels too open and exposed, like she might get all mushy and do something stupid.

Max looks soft and inviting. Chloe’s never been good at resisting things she craves.

“Fine,” she says. “But if you elbow me in the face I’m telling your mom about that time you got high in my room.”

**

 

“So,” Chloe says, lying on the floor and kicking her legs. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

She’s been on her absolute best behaviour through a long day with Max’s parents – a trip to the Art Museum, an hour at the bookstore, fucking _grocery shopping_. She’s desperate to drag Max out to do something wild to make up for it.

 “Take me for a walk. Feed me. I’m _bored_ ,” Chloe whines.

“Oh,” Max says, with a smug little glance up from her shiny new book, “Is _that_ why you were staring?”

“ _Ha!_ Who’d wanna stare at you?”

“How dare you,” says Max. “I’m adorable.”  

“Okay, _maybe._ But when are you gonna let me grunge you up?”

Max twists her mouth to the side, like she’s mentally checking her diary for a suitable date.

“Why are you so into dressing me up?” she asks, looking suspicious.

“Because you’re hella cute and yet you have no style. It breaks my heart,” Chloe says, clutching at her chest. “Just think of me as your fairy god punk.”

She drags herself up and shuffles over to sit behind Max on her bed. Max puts down her book and Chloe’s pretty smug that she’s finally managed to steal her attention. Take that you inanimate wordy fucker.

“Seriously. Like, I’d give you the most amazing tat,” Chloe says. “Something hella cool.” She touches Max’s shoulder blade. “Right here.”

She feels Max tense under her touch. Chloe glides her fingers down Max’s back, stomach fluttering stupidly when she bumps down over her bra strap.

“You could have anything you wanted,” she says, tracing the coil of an imaginary snake down Max’s back. “Something real artsy,” she says, drawing a spiral. “Then you’d be seriously hot. Like me.”

“You suck,” Max sulks, “I’m already hot.”

“And way more confident than you used to be,” Chloe smirks.

Max leans her weight into Chloe, pressing her back warm against Chloe’s chest. Chloe swallows, throat dry. She moves her hand, lets her fingers trail through the ends of Max’s hair. When Max turns to look at Chloe, her eyes are so gentle and curious that it almost hurts to look. It makes Chloe nervous. Makes her wonder what the hell she’s doing.

“We can shave your head too,” Chloe says, ruffling Max’s hair in a manner that’s far from delicate. 

“No way!”

“You’ll rock it. I can see it now. Winter trends – ‘ _The Maxhawk._ ’”

Chloe makes buzzing noises as she combs her fingers over Max’s scalp.

“Stay away from my hair,” Max gasps, rolling off the bed.

She grabs a pillow and holds it up threateningly. Her face is all scrunched up. She looks so serious.

Chloe laughs harder than she has in a long time.

**

Chloe shouldn’t snoop, but she can’t help it. She needs something to do when Max is off using some sparkly organic bath bomb and Chloe’s sitting around, tapping her foot and trying not to equate what Max minus clothes must be like.

So she fumbles around, finds mementos from their childhood. It’s a relief to find that Max kept so many stupid things too.

She finds a shoebox marked with a blue butterfly, scrawled on the cardboard in biro. Chloe’s almost disappointed when she opens it and discovers that it’s not a kinky stash of sex toys. It’s just crammed with photos. Talk about an anti-climax. She recognises some of them from the wall in her dorm. She brought them with her. How very Max Caulfield.

She flips through a few and of course they’re all stunning. Max makes her look so cool – dancing, drinking, swinging her gun carelessly. She leafs through picture after picture and finds herself in so many – triumphant on the boat, completely stoned in a pile of leaves, soft in the rain, wild on a skateboard.

She’s trying to work out when some of the photos were even taken, when Max strolls back through the door – smelling divine, hair dripping wet, all soft and dressed and ready for bed.

“Hey stalker,” Chloe grins. “Why didn’t you tell me you have _infinite_ photos of me?”

“Chloe,” Max says. She draws in a little breath of surprise. “Oh crap. My photos-“

“No, hey, it’s cool. I know I’m irresistible.” She picks up a photo where she’s sleeping and laughs. “You’re such a sneaky fucker,” she flicks through a few more. “Damn, there’s so many. Max, like, I know I’m biased and shit, but these are genuinely amazing.”

Max looks down, eyes fixed shyly on her feet.  She lets out a nervous giggle.

Chloe finds a few Warrens. A bunch of Kates. A scatter of Blackwell girls that she hasn’t met. But Chloe's the most common theme. She flicks through more and more, following the trail of blue. A laugh catches and fades in her throat. She sucks in a breath through her teeth.

The thing is, Max is great at taking photos. So it’s kind of impossible to miss it. It’s just – Chloe’s probably being reckless and jumping to stupid conclusions – only the warmth and affection leaping from the pages kind of makes it seem like maybe Max – maybe she –   

“You must really – love me…” Chloe voice trails off to a murmur.

Max looks up, frightened and helpless. She hugs her arms around herself, shrinking back against the door frame. “Oh god,” she whispers.

She looks anxious and jittery and it makes Chloe panic. She ditches the photos and surges forward to curl her fingers around Max’s wrist.

“Don’t rewind,” she says firmly, “Don’t you dare.”

Max hesitates, chewing at her lip.

“What is this?” Chloe demands. “Is this – you’re not – I mean – _are you_?”

“What?” Max whispers.

“Hella gay,” Chloe screeches, sounding kind of hysterical.

Max looks down and twines her fingers together.

“Maybe?” She says, in a timid little voice.  

“And you didn’t think to – I don’t know – mention that?”

“You’re the bold one,” Max says, helplessly. “You make things happen.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head, “No, Max. That’s you.”

“I thought that – You didn’t kiss me back,” Max says, exasperated.

“Dude, like I said, I was _shocked_. I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”

“And… and Rachel…”

“Rachel’s,” Chloe swallows. She still can’t say it out loud. “We’re here. We’re the ones who survived.  And some days I’m sure you’re the only thing left that matters.”

“Chloe,” Max whispers, fingers skimming over Chloe’s trembling hand. “You’ve been my best friend for so long...”

“Max,” Chloe laughs, half-delirious, “Max, I’m too sober for this mushy shit.”

“Is this okay? Will this fuck everything up? Should we –”

“Shhh,” Chloe soothes her. “Shut up, hipster. Take notes for your blog. I’m going to kiss you.”

Max make a small noise of surprise as Chloe leans forward and just goes for it, just fucking kisses her. Chloe has every intention of blowing Max’s mind with her mad makeout skills, only she finds herself trembling, hands fumbling clumsily like all the people she’s been with count for fucking _nothing._

It all feels so nervy and adolescent that Chloe starts to think that maybe she needs a break just to shot some of the vodka she has stashed in her bag, but then she feels Max relax and open her mouth a little and _hello_ , that’s distracting. Max seems weirdly cool with it, weirdly _good_ at it, and it all feels so natural, so fucking _right,_ that Chloe suspects maybe they _have_ done this before, maybe Max actually made a move on her and rewound. It’s fucked up to think about how fluidly Max could control everything, if she wanted to. What’s more fucked up is how insanely _soft_ her lips are.

Chloe suddenly remembers she has hands and indulges herself, lets her fingertips brush the soft skin just under Max’s shirt, the places she’s _dreamt_ about touching.  Her skin is even smoother than she ever imagined and fuck yeah, _this_ she can handle. Chloe gains confidence and momentum as she backs Max up against the door, pushing against her, digging her fingers into her hips. Max’s hands explore the warmth of Chloe’s back, less hesitant as Chloe kisses her harder, skims teeth across her bottom lip. Something raw flutters low in Chloe’s stomach and she grins into the kiss, fingers edging upwards, skimming Max’s ribs, brushing just below her breast.

 “C-Chloe,” Max gasps, jolting back. “Whoa –“

Chloe leans back and tries to catch her breath.

“Max, is this – are you okay?”  

Max nods and pulls away and flops down onto her bed, tugging Chloe down with her. They lie facing each other and it’s kind of embarrassing, making eye contact when they’re both blushing so hard. Chloe has never felt more exposed. Never felt less punk.

“I’m okay,” Max insists. “Really, this is like,” she lets out a shaky breath, “ _Wowser_. It’s just –“

“Let me guess,” Chloe smirks. “You normally only bang people who are trending on Twitter and now you’re freaking out because all your hipster followers are going to judge you?”

“You know me so well,” Max laughs and rolls her eyes. “But seriously, It’s just. I’ve never–“

“That’s okay,” Chloe raises her eyebrows, all smugness and poise. “No worries. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, I mean,” Max hides her face behind her hands. When she speaks, her words are muffled. “God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve never even –”

She breaks off with a little noise, like a tiny injured animal. It takes Chloe a moment to fill in the gaps.

“Are you saying,” Chloe says slowly. “The dare was your _first kiss_?”

Max confirms with with a series of horrified squeaks.

“Oh. _Oh_ , shit. Okay. If I’d known I would’ve at least lit some candles or something.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Max whines.

“I’m not! For someone with literally no experience, you're fucking hot.”

Max groans.

“I guess I’m a natural,” she says weakly.

The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s hiding something, like she knows too much. Chloe’s got this nagging little sense of déjà vu which makes her wonder if Max is fucking with time. It almost makes her nervous, but she trusts Max. Literally trusts Max with her life.

And suddenly it seems like a big deal, reaching out and brushing Max’s cheek. Chloe feels electricity tingle down her fingertips as she draws patterns across Max’s skin. She leans in again and presses their lips together, just because she can. Max shuffles closer, humming a little in approval. Chloe doesn’t often do gentle, but as usual, she finds that Max is the exception.

Max curls herself around Chloe, wraps her arms around her until they’re nothing but warm skin and tangled legs. Max rubs soothing circles on her back. Chloe feels more peaceful than she has in months, maybe _ever._

“Maybe we can just do this for now?” Max says, blinking up at Chloe.

She’s so fucking cute it actually hurts.

Chloe can’t quite believe this is real.

“This is so much better than last night,” Chloe says. “Your cat totally tried to spoon me.”

“I’ll have words with him,” Max says, breath ticklish against her collarbone. “I just don’t think that’s appropriate, now that we’re together.”

“ _Ohhh,_ ” says Chloe. “So we’re _together.”_

“I mean,” Max says, and Chloe peers down and finds she’s blushing. “I wouldn’t kiss just _anyone._ ”

“Can I text Warren?” Chloe asks gleefully. “Oh man, this is gonna be so fucking _good._ ”

“Chloe,” Max says. “Be nice.”

“Max,” Chloe says, teeth bared in a menacing grin. “I’m _always_ nice.”

 

Chloe wakes when a rogue and pointed elbow almost skims her nose right off her face. It’s an ungodly hour, she can just _tell_. The sun has barely risen. There’s no way she should be awake. She squints groggily at Max and she’s sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that she almost broke her new girlfriend's nose. She has terrible bed hair. She still smells like stupid hipster bath salts.

Chloe thinks this must be what it's like, to wake up and just feel okay. This must be what it's like to twist open the blinds and recline in the sun. Chloe usually avoids direct sunlight. She’s been burned so many times that her skin is raw.

Max stretches out and kicks her in the shin. Chloe sighs.

What’s life without a bit of fucking risk.

**Author's Note:**

> this almost ended up higher rated haha maybe this will all change next time....


End file.
